Pages

Friday, February 27, 2009

He just realized it? Brutus is kind of slow. Also, the angry/devious look on Brutus' face doesn't remind me of a Cheshire Cat. Doesn't Brutus have real work he needs to do other than figure outways to make his paycheck make him feel more like a man? I mean, I know Gladys is home all day doing who knows what and Wilberforce's blond hair proves he's not Brutus' but there's got to be other stuff to lose yourself in.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Matthew Landsman arrived home and his son, Elliot, greeted him at the door. "Hiya, son. How was school today?"

"I kicked sand in Ella Thompson's face," Elliot said.

"Well, that's not cool," Landsman said.

"And Ami keeps chewing on my pencils."

"That's not cool, either," Landsman said, putting Elliot back down on the floor. "Why does Ami chew on your pencils?"

"Ah-mi! And she chews on everyone's pencils."

"As long as she's an equal opportunity chewer," Landsman smiled. He walked over to his wife Brenda who was in the kitchen boiling water. "Hello, my sweet. How was your day?"

"It was good. I got those pants restitched for you," Brenda said.

"Thank you, sweetie. Those are some decent pants and I want to keep using them," Landsman kissed his wife on the cheek and went into the living room and grabbed the TV remote. "See what's on the news," he said to himself.

Landsman turned on the TV and flipped over to a local news channel. A picture of Thomas Snow was on the screen. "...found dead by his evening maid this afternoon. Snow, a prominent fixture in the White House from 1986 to 1993. Police have a few leads and one suspect, who they are not naming at this time. Police are saying that the suspect is a major player in the District Attorney's office," the reporter said.

Landsman's jaw dropped. "Oh, crap!"

"Dylan""Honey?" Landsman called from the living room. "Have you seen the news?"

"No, dear. I've been out all day and I got home not too long ago," she called from the kitchen. "Could you come here please?"

Brenda dried her hands and joined her husband in the living room. "What's up?"

"Now, I don't want to alarm you but do you know Thomas Snow?"

Brenda shook her head. "Why? Should I?"

"He was found murdered in his office this afternoon," Landsman revealed.

"Oh, that's terrible," Brenda gasped.

"I was the last one to see him alive," Landsman said.

"So you...could be a suspect?" Brenda asked. "Murder?"

"Yes, in fact, I'm apparently the only suspect. I didn't do it so I should be able to clear my name but..." Landsman thought about the flat Earth conspiracy. "...I want you to take the kids and go to my parents house. Stay there until I call and tell you what to do."

"Matt? What's going on?" Brenda started crying.

"Don't worry honey. We'll get out of this but this is becoming bigger than both of us," Landsman turned off the TV and directed his wife toward the bedrooms. "Go pack some things for the kids and yourself."

Landsman stood in the living room thinking about what to do next. The police are probably on their way, he thought, looking at his watch. What am I supposed to do?

Suddenly the telephone in the office rang and Landsman went to answer it. He paused as his hand hovered above the phone. The phone rang a third time, then a fourth before Landsman answered it.

"Matthew Landsman?" the voice on the other end asked.

Landsman attempted to answer but the words got caught in his throat. He cleared it but the voice continued.

"I know what's going on. You didn't murder Snow but they are going to set you up that you did. Come down to your office and we can talk about it. And don't worry, you can trust me."

Landsman finally found his voice. "Wait a minute. Just who are you?"

"My name is Dylan Freeman. Please hurry to your office but be cautious and use back roads here," Dylan warned. "I'll see you soon," and he hung up.

Landsman stood with the phone at his ear, dazed at the conversation he just had.

"Matthew!" Brenda shouted, bringing Landsman out of his daze. "We're packed and ready to go," she sniffled.

"Good. Go to my parents, I'll try to meet up with you as soon as I can and I promise when I see you again, I will explain everything that's going on," he kissed her cheek and promptly ushered her out of the door and saw them off. Landsman felt a chill run down his back but looked around and saw nothing. Then he looked up into the sky. He still saw nothing but knew someone was probably looking down on him.

Landsman packed a duffel bag of clothes, notebooks of client information and personal scribblings and a knife. He loaded it into the back of his SUV and locked up his house. He backed out of the driveway and began heading toward his office, only using surface streets instead of Interstate 76. It was still considered rush hour and the traffic was terrible in some spots but Landsman seemed to make it back to the courthouse in pretty good time.

Landsman's parents lived in Carmel, New York, a good three hours northeast of Philadelphia. Brenda tried to calm down Elliot and their daughter Molly but they were full of questions about where they were going, why they were going and when Daddy was going to come with them.

It seemed to take forever to get through the Philadelphia traffic but Brenda tried to keep her calm. Twice she thought about calling her husband but thought against it and wondered what was going on.

She originally thought that all this was caused by someone her husband had sent to jail--as an act of revenge but then came to the conclusion that all this was way to elaborate for a common criminal to handle and chuckled at herself for thinking that.

Suddenly, flashing lights came up in her rear view mirror. A police car was chasing her. She merged over to the far right of the highway and slowed down to a stop and put the car in park. An officer got out of the police car and walked up to her van.

"Evening, ma'am," the officer asked. "I'm sorry I had to stop you but we have an A.P.B. all this type of van. Seems like a parole violator stole one and is fleeing the city. We have to check all that we see," the officer chuckled.

"I completely understand, officer," Brenda smiled.

"If I could ask you to step out of the car so we can search it, just to be sure, ma'am."

"Uh, I guess that's all right," Brenda sighed and unbuckled her seatbelt. She got out of the car and the officer told her to stand in front of the police car next to his partner while he looked around in the van.

Landsman walked down the empty corridor to his office in the courthouse. Everything seemed normal but Landsman's stomach was in a knot. How could this day have changed so drastically? He turned the knob to his office but found it locked. He dug his keys out of his pocket and unlocked and opened the door. At his desk stood a tall man with brown hair, a military uniform, wearing glasses and carrying a laptop briefcase.

"Mr. Landsman? Good evening. So glad to see you and to know you made it here all right. I am Dylan Freeman and I am going to tell you everything you need to know."

I am not really in the mood to focus on trying to make fun of The Born Loser today...besides, it's Mardi Gras. Everyone needs to go out and get drunk. And get a little drunk for me, too.

In the meantime, here are the links to the three part story I wrote that I think is one of my better, funnier stories. It's called "Suicidal Tendencies" and it's about Daniel Judge who has to bring his family back together after five years apart after his grandmother threatens to kill herself. Enjoy.

Monday, February 23, 2009

But seriously, what's up with Brutus conversing with people? Before when Brutus would converse with people, they would make fun of him and give him a wedgie (off-panel of course) but now they seem like friends. Brutus shouldn't have friends. It's not right that Brutus Thornapple is more popular than me. Not right at all.

On a side dog note, if you want to hear a good new dog story, read this.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Screw the things actually happening in today's strip, I am more interested in the backgrounds. The Lake Erie Nature and Science Center actually exists and there is, in fact, a deer barn there. So I guess Chip lives somewhere near Bay Village, Ohio. Or he's just a pawn the the LENSC's little game.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Why are people still talking about this cartoon? Al Sharpton (who's really getting good at reminding us all about how horrible the past was to blacks even when no one else really cares about it) is the one who turned this into a racist cartoon. The cartoon depicts a satirical look at the monkey that had to be shot in Connecticut and one of the officers says that now someone else will have to write the stimulus bill. When I first saw this cartoon, I immediately thought "Ha, ha! Our Congresspeople are ignorant, feces-throwing monkeys."

Apparently the Reverend Sharpton looked at that cartoon and immediately thought the monkey was drawn to be President Barack Obama (a reference to the way African-Americans were compared to monkeys). Now the news has been talking about that damn cartoon for three days or more and I'm getting tired of it. News Corp., who published the cartoon in the New York Post issued a pseudo-apology which is a lot more than I would've offered. I didn't see the monkey as President Obama, I saw it as a bunch of howling, screaming feces-throwing monkey in our Capitol.

Would the cartoon have been taken differently if the police officer had said something different or if the monkey was wearing a sash reading "Congress". I think people are looking too much into it because the police officer said "someone else" meaning only one person. Writing a law or a bill, especially one of this size, is a collaborative effort. President Obama didn't do it all, he only made suggestions and our House and Senate expanded on it to include things both sides wanted (like free ice cream for six months). I think Sharpton and any one else who always jumps on these types of things need to start picking their battles. I'm getting tired of trying to be made guilty about what happened before I was born and that my family had no part of and I'm sure there are others out there who agree with me.

And the worst part of it is that no one seems to care that a monkey had to die for all this to happen. Rest in Peace, Travis. What a way to make the news....

It's been almost three years since I began routinely posting stuff online. I started on MySpace, posting a blog every week or so and now I own my own website which isn't that much of an accomplishment but it shows I'm serious about keeping this blog around for a very long time.

It's interesting to see the things that have changed in my life since I became a regular user of the Internet. Back in August 2006 when I posted my first MySpace blog, I was single and working at a job I didn't really like but tolerated because I enjoyed the few people I worked with and the hours. Within a month, things would change for what I originally thought would be the better but instead became kind of like a bad high school drama. After about nine months or so, things slowed down, everything sorted itself out and after a few months of being single I met someone else and it's all been as perfect as can be.

A sad realization of the year has been that I don't think I will be the writer I really want to be. I had these grand schemes to be an author. An author not in the vein of James Patterson or Stephen King where they can sell millions of copies just by stamping their name on something but a respected author who sells a respectable amount of books and can live comfortably. I'm currently writing what I want to be my second novel and as I'm typing it from a notebook, I am realizing that it is not very good. Not very good at all. I'm hoping I am just being critical or that when I do the massive edit when I'm done I can get rid of the stuff that, you know, sucks.

I've always wanted to be a writer but aside from the writings I do online, I don't think I'm going to be a pseudo-successful author. I guess many people would tell you that the Internet is the next wave of book publication but there's something about actually holding the book/newspaper/magazine in your hand that just feels right. I'm pretty sure I'm not alone.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Who in the hell talks like that in the second panel? "Proposition"? "Difficult to construct"? If Chip was trying to get us thinking we really were talking about a road bridge, he failed by putting that coat on the dentist. The second panel should read something like "A bridge is an expensive procedure to do," but then the joke in the last panel would really work.

In case you don't know, I am bringing the Point of Beginning back tomorrow and without the plans I had originally planned. Getting it all organized for other people to do it became to hard so I gave up and decided to just return posting over here.

Also, I've been placing ads for the website on other websites hoping to get more traffic so keep your eyes peeled for them. You may also donate to the site to help pay for the advertising and the upcoming domain name renewal or just in case you are feeling generous despite these hard economical times.

And don't forget about the Facebook Group Losers Are Made, Not Born, it's free and anyone with a Facebook account can join and meet some of the other Losers out there.

Today's strip has caught me off guard. I am unnerved by Brutus actually and competently doing his job and interacting with other people. I, however, completely expected the bad joke at the end of the strip.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Former White House Press Secretary Thomas Snow had his office and residence in a massive Stalinist Gothic building near the center of downtown. The building was very imposing as it was completely different from all the other buildings around it. Landsman stood at the foot of the steps to the main door and hesitated walking up and confronting something he didn't really want to know.

Landsman turned at looked at a nearby clock tower. 2:55 P.M. Landsman inhaled deeply and starting walking up the stairs. He knocked on the door leading to Snow's massive office exactly at three. A muffled "come in" came from the other side of the door and Landsman cautiously opened the white painted amazingly decorated door.

"Mr. Landsman, I assume?" Snow said from a huge mahogany desk.

"Yes, sir," Landsman quietly said and approached the desk.

Thomas Snow was a tall man with a head full of powder white hair. His face was slightly wrinkled but those, the hair and the fancy suit made him look like a distinguished grandfather. Snow was White House Press Secretary from 1986 to 1993, helping three presidents deal with the fast balls the media threw.

Snow was known as a man who never let politics stand in the way of educating his country. Snow was a good man and an honest man.

"Please have a seat," Snow directed and stood. "I feel bad for Senator Collyer and hope all this can be fixed and it can all be put behind him. He doesn't deserve this, Mr. Landsman. The people who have died either protecting the secret or trying to reveal it didn't deserve it either. Great people have been knocked down because of this secret."

"That the world is flat, right?" Landsman confirmed.

"Oh, yes. To paraphrase C.S. Lewis, the Earth is round like a table, not round like a ball. He knew it. Revealed it to everyone in his own way," Snow smiled.

"You'll have to start from the beginning, Mr. Snow. I am finding it all hard to believe. Granted, I only heard about it yesterday but it's hard to go back on 32 years of conditioning."

"All right, from the beginning..."

"Origins of the Flat Earth""The Earth was always flat. Cavemen believed the Earth was flat because that was all they knew. When religion is brought about, those in charge thought that since heathens and non-believers believed the world was flat then obviously the world is round. Some challenged authority, people died because of it," Snow explained while Landsman listened intently. "The conspiracy was just really a hodge-podge up until the last couple of centuries when people actually started solidifying what the general public deserved to know."

"Do you know who the first person to die because of this conspiracy was?" Landsman asked.

"Some say it was Jesus but I'm sure that's just more fuel for the conspiracy fire. Now, not everyone who threatens to expose the secret gets killed. Most have their lives ruined or is injured in some way. George W. Bush? He was made to look like the worst president in history. Although some people would say he was the best. It's a weird world," Snow said.

"The world is flat?" Landsman asked.

"Yes, Mr. Landsman. The world is flat."

"How is that possible? How did we find out?"

"We never found out, per se. So far it is all just theory because, well, who would really want to go to the edge of the world and see if you fall off?" Snow chuckled.

"Wouldn't gravity keep you from falling? Or would you just fall into space?"

"We don't know. We want to know. We need to know. That's one of the major flaws of this conspiracy. We have no proof that the Earth is flat. We're just assuming. Everything that could prove it, we've never done. We never went to the moon, it was filmed on a sound stage. We're faking everything NASA is revealing. Since I left being White House Press Secretary, I have devoted myself to revealing the conspiracy to the world. I've interviewed countless world leaders to get the full story. The book is over 3,000 pages and details centuries of lies starting as far back as possible. Thing is, I don't know if a book like this would ever see print," Snow said.

"Yeah, it would be unbelievable and pretty long," Landsman acknowledged. "Wouldn't there be an easier way to tell the world?"

"I'm sure there would be but every other way those in charge could use it against you and ruin your life. The book will be published after my death so I can't be hurt. As for my family, I've explained it to them and they can handle any backlash anyone gives them."

"Well, I hope everything goes all right for you. I have to get back to my office and figure out how to deal with Senator Collyer's case. Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Snow," Landsman stood and shook Snow's hand.

"Not a problem, Mr. Landsman."

Landsman left the huge building and headed back to his office. Thomas Snow returned to his desk and continued writing. Suddenly, a knock was heard was heard on his door.

"Come in?" Snow answered.

Next WeekLandsman is accused of murder as he gets a mysterious phone call.

Monday, February 16, 2009

How come Gladys seems to forget Wilberforce exists when she's cooking dinner? I imagine Wilberforce in his room doing homework or playing or reading and then coming down while Gladys is doing dishes and asking where dinner is. Gladys, suddenly remembering that she has a son, blames Wilberforce for not coming down for dinner and sends him to bed without dinner.

Meanwhile, Brutus and Gladys get stupid drunk on some high class, yet cheap, wine from Dino's House of Wine.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

When I started this blog, I titled it "Losers Are Made, Not Born" and the name stuck but the more I read this comic strip the more I realize that Brutus is not really a loser--he's human. It's one thing to call him a born loser when everything goes wrong in his life but to call him one when he's passed over for a raise, his wife emasculates him or he finds a hair in his soup is quite different. What today's strip has to do with being a loser, I don't know but Brutus isn't a loser, he's just human.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Okay, I kind of chuckled at today's strip. There's just something about the way I pictured Hattie saying her line. I think Chip should've put the word 'real' in there somewhere. "Maybe they'll let him operate on real people, someday!" but now I think I'm just over analyzing it.

I keep tabs on a blog called 365 to 42. It's a daily blog created by Brett Trafford to countdown the 365 days until his 42nd birthday and features just little snippets of his life, the music he's listening to and random pictures he has taken.

Well, his 42nd is coming in a few days so his blog, I assume, will be coming to an end. You have to at least look at some of his photos because they are all just amazing. I wish I could take pictures like that and maybe someday I'll try.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Senator Robert Collyer paced around the interrogation room at the Corrections Department in Downtown Philadelphia. Senator Collyer was arrested earlier today for insider trading. Collyer was nervous because he knew he was innocent but knew his career, and possibly his life, were over. A skinny young man in a suit was buzzed into the room and sat his suitcase on the table in the middle of the room.

"The Earth Is Flat"Matthew Landsman was buzzed into the interrogation room and placed his briefcase on the table next to Kevin's. "Senator Collyer," Landsman began, "it is an extreme pleasure to meet you. Best Senator this state has ever had."

"Well, I'm glad I have a fan," Senator Collyer smiled. "I'm gonna need all the friends I can get."

"Well, insider trading isn't as bad. I'm sure you'd just get a few months in jail and time served," Landsman said.

"That's normally what would happen but I'm not going to get a fair trial. Everything is stacked up against me and there is no way I'll avoid prison," Collyer explained.

"It's a very straightforward case, Senator. I don't really know what you are talking about," Landsman said. He glanced at Kevin who shrugged.

"I can explain it to you," Collyer said. "It's actually a very fascinating story."

"I'll have to advise you against talking openly to..." Kevin tried to interrupt but Collyer held up his hand and silenced his lawyer.

"I know what I'm doing. The first thing I want to talk about is why this powerful and successful senator is sitting here. I typically have the best lawyer on my side: Theodore Dandridge but as you can see he's not here right now. Up until this morning, I didn't even have any stock, which is strange for a senator but the truth.

"Since I was elected, I have kept a secret that many other elected officials have kept. The secret, if known, could destroy the world and it proves that everything we know in this world--possibly the universe--is wrong," Senator Collyer began explaining.

"What could be so devestating? I don't understand," Landsman said.

"The Earth, Mr. Landsman, is flat."

Landsman and Kevin were silent as they stared at Senator Collyer. Landsman smiled and chuckled a little. "Okay, that is unbelievable. We've known since, like 400 B.C., that the Earth is round. Besides, even if the Earth is flat, who would benefit from it? What'd be the purpose?"

"You'd be surprised. Just about everything that happens in this world is linking to the Earth being flat. Rome fell because they refused to accept that the Earth was flat; kings were deposed because they either didn't believe or wanted to tell the masses; John Kennedy," Collyer revealed.

"What? Kennedy was assassinated because he was going to tell the country?"

Collyer nodded. "Pope John Paul II was slowly poisoned," he sighed.

"My God," Landsman gasped. "Why is this such a secret? Who started it?"

"All I know is that is goes back to the creation of religion. Cavemen believed the world was flat so the religious people in charge decided that if those Godless heathens thought the world was flat then, in truth, the world must be round."

"I'm having a hard time believing all of this, Senator," Landsman admitted. "I kind of want to believe but how can everything--literally everything--be tied to this?"

"Go see Thomas Snow, he's here in Philadelphia. He's a former White House Press Secretary. He'll tell you everything you want to know. He's a good man who wants everyone to know the truth," Collyer said.

"Look, I'm gonna go," Landsman said standing up. "I'm gonna look over the case and think about everything you told me and I need to decide what to do. This is a lot to take in. So you were going to tell?"

"Poisoning and assassination is a bit much for a lowly state senator so they just decided to ruin my life," Collyer smiled.

"Thank you, Senator. Again, a great pleasure to meet you," Landsman said and was buzzed out of the room.

Landsman sat in his office thinking about what Senator Collyer said. He had called to get the address and phone number to Thomas Snow and was debating going to see him or not. Landsman picked up his phone and dialed the phone number.

The phone rang three times and someone answered. "Hello?"

"Is Thomas Snow there?"

"This is he. Who is this?"

"This is Assistant District Attorney Matthew Landsman. I want to come over and ask you a few questions about Senator Robert Collyer."

There was silence on the other end then a deep breath. "Do you know where my place is?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tomorrow at three," and Snow hung up.

Next Week:Landsman learns everything about the Flat Earth from Snow and then becomes unknowingly involved in the conspiracy.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

I know most people read this thing at work, some might read it at home, I don't know. What would it take to get weekend readers? The reason I'm asking is because over the weekend, no one reads the site which hurts the price of the ads in the sidebar and causes ads to disappear. I just want to know what would be a good way to keep weekend readers. Please send me some suggestions and we'll try them out.

I sometimes wondered why people went to Fonzi for advice at all. Fonzi wasn't all that smart but he had a lot of common sense. I can see why Potsie and Ralph Malph went to him but I always figured Richie was too smart for that.

I originally thought that this comic was talking about Potsie (Anson Williams) but then I figured Chip went the Stephen Colbert route and was talking about Fonzie since it rhymes.

Saturday, February 7, 2009

Starting today, I am accepting requests to be an author for The Point of Beginning. Send me an email to my Gmail account (stullchurch@gmail.com) and I will send you a confirmation to be a contributor. POB doesn't start until March 1st (and I get the first two posts) but you can definitely start writing drafts and doing some editing. Anyone can join and you can write about anything. And now, onto the last day of random comic mockery.

Yes, because twins must act the same all the time.

If Electro did pay the electric bill then the sensible thing would be to call the electric company and complain. But no, he turns into a supervillain and goes to destroy the electric company possibly leaving thousands without power for two weeks.

Jeffy, it's that kind of heathen mentality that will keep you from going to heaven and sure the Devil let's you play a drum but you won't like what the stick is.

Downslaught? Does he mean "onslaught"? Is he making a "downpour" joke because it's snow and not rain? I don't quite understand this joke but then again, I have 70 degree weather.

Friday, February 6, 2009

It has been three years since my book Harter Union was published by PublishAmerica (motto: "We treat our authors the old fashioned way--we pay them."). I haven't sold many copies or made much money on it and I really don't care because I don't want to do all the work it takes to promote the damn thing. See, most book publishers pay for the promotion, send you around the country for book signings and basically make sure that bookstores order your book. PublishAmerica doesn't do that. I knew this when I signed with them because I didn't really care. I just wanted a book out that people could actually buy and read. I haven't read the final product but other people have and said it was actually pretty good. Maybe they're lying, I don't know. And frankly, I don't want to know. What I find a huge load is that the book is only 230 and PA is charging retailers $24.95 for it while they are only charging $19.99. $24.95 for a 230 page softcover book is just outrageous and kind of a rip-off.

Anywho, the story is a fictionalized telling of the four years I worked at Baker University which were some of the happiest times in my life. Yes, me working qualifies as happy times. Some of the things that happened in the book actually happened in real life. I had to change some things around to make the story work and there are some things I wouldn't have kept in if would've edited it one last time (I had already edited it three times and rewrote it twice so I was tired of looking at it).

An interesting fact is that the cover of the book originally had a bikini-clad blond woman sitting on the word Harter. I had wanted this book to be my first and it is but I've been wanting to do other stuff with the characters and see what else I could possibly do with it so I have decided that next year, February 2010, I will introduce a Story Series based on my book which could totally redo the way the book is written, plus I can do a bit more storytelling which was something I really couldn't do in the published book.

Ok, I am tired of this storyline in Get Fuzzy. Just so you all know I didn't like "Dr. Strangelove" either. I also think "E.T." is a bad movie and don't get me started on "Kill Bill". I refuse to watch the Pixar movie "Cars" and have enjoyed every movie with Lindsay Lohan.

What's wrong with Curtis this week? He has been such a brat that it makes me hope someone starts beating him soon. I'd happily do it.

Why is he yawning twice in the second panel?

So does Crankshaft just go to random funerals to laugh at the deceased?

I get it now. His wife's soul has been transferred into the cat! Hmm, I don't really know if I'd want to clean out my wife's litter box.

What? Comic strips can't switch to digital hi-def. Also, televisions are just going digital, not hi-def. And that's not the way hi-def works.

I want to know why teacher is underlined. Is Chris Browne as shocked as Ditto that his teacher is at the mall or is it to make sure we know it's his teacher and not the retarded stand-in for Little Orphan Annie?

Rat makes yet another appearance in Slylock Fox and is even drawn with a little pipe which isn't cool in a comic strip exclusively marketed toward small, impressionable children.

I remember when I saw the movie Spider-Man, when Peter actually became Spidey the only thing I could think of was "how'd he create the costume" because in the comic book he made it himself but in the movie it was way too elaborate for him to make out of fabric he bought at Wal-Mart. And that's the question I have here: "How'd Electro make the suit?"

You know what gives me a laugh? I picture Bil Keane hooked up to a massive life support system (or in some sort of life sustaining tube) begging Jeff to let him and the strip die and Jeff just laughs and screams "Shut up, Old Man! You're staying alive until the 50th Anniversary in 2010!"